


Perpetual anticipation is good for the soul (but it's bad for the heart)

by tahariel



Series: Backseat 'verse [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Femslash, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's sister has been to see a submissive she thinks might suit him. Erik wants to know everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perpetual anticipation is good for the soul (but it's bad for the heart)

"So?" Erik asks as soon as she comes in, turning away from the tall windows of his sister's penthouse apartment to watch her slip off her coat. Emma's face is as inscrutable as ever, just a wry, dry curl to her mouth as though she has heard a particularly funny joke about you and wants you to know it.

He would try to emulate her if he could - does, in public - but there's not much point in appearing outwardly calm when your sister is a telepath and has never been averse to digging around in your head when she gets curious.

Emma looks at him with her typical sultry gaze - she doesn’t tone it down for him, though they both know she’s playing - and flicks her hair back over her shoulder, a brief touch of her mind on his like a welcome all of its own. Her lips curl further as she hangs up the coat, and then the mask cracks and she is laughing at him, walking across the plush cream-coloured carpet to cup a hand along his cheek and shake his head gently back and forth. "Erik. Always so impatient."

"As if you were any better," he retorts, but does not pull away from her the way he would have once, allows her this familial contact the way he won’t tolerate from anybody else. "Moira told me you used your telepathy to find out where she lived and swung by her house before you were bonded. Her parents had to move to keep you from cheating. So don't you lecture me about patience. What is he - she - like?"

Emma tilts her head to the side, birdlike and thinking. "He. And he's very sweet, Erik. I think you'll like him very much." He tries to push back against her mind, to get even a glimpse of what she’s thinking about the submissive she’s been to see, but as ever Emma is too good at preventing him from turning it around on her, presenting only a wall of diamond that he cannot get any purchase on. He couldn’t even do that much if he hadn’t spent as much time being poked and prodded by her for so many years, but it’s not his natural talent and she keeps him out easily, without so much as a twitch of her expression other than amusement. “No cheating, sweetheart,” she chides him, and he can feel her laughing at him.

Erik scowls. 

“The sooner I’m bonded and out from under your thumb, the better.” He steps back and away from her hand, more frustrated than anything else. Looking back out of the window at the ships floating past on their way to the harbour, his eyes are drawn to their metal bodies and the feeling of them like weights on the rubber sheet of his world, drawing everything towards them like lodestones. “When’s his family coming to check my teeth and stud record?”

Emma snorts and moves back next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning into his shoulder. She’s not a small woman but she does feel delicate against him, like a china doll he could break - if he didn’t know her too well for that. Emma is like a stiletto blade, elegant and sharp. “You’re hardly under my thumb, darling, you live by yourself and you have your own work and your own money. Why, I hardly exercise my rights as the head of the family over you at all. I could insist you live here with me and Moira and then where would you be?”

“Back in my childhood bedroom, probably,” he says, and lets her pull his arm around her waist, lays his hand on her hip and stands there quietly with her watching the sun slowly sink towards the horizon. “Where’s Moira?”

“Oh, we had a spat this morning, so she’s thinking about what she’s done,” Emma says lightly, which could mean anything from asleep to being tied up in a suspension frame hanging from their playroom ceiling. He hasn’t heard a peep from her so Emma must have told her to be quiet, or, more likely, gagged her submissive to keep her from cursing. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Are you cooking?”

This earns him one of Emma’s real belly laughs, one that lightens her face and makes her seem utterly and tenderly human. “Lord, no. You are, if you’re staying, or else I’ll order in, since Moira is otherwise indisposed.”

“I’ll stay if you tell me about him.”

“If I tell you about him what do I get out of it, other than a surcease of whining?”

“Lobster and pumpkin ravioli?”

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Emma says, and kisses Erik on the cheek before heading off towards her and Moira’s private corridor, on the far side of the penthouse from where Erik had stayed as a child, to change, presumably, or possibly just to give Moira a push and set her swinging. “Chop chop, darling.”

Just for spite he makes sure the sauce is extra creamy, the better to stain whatever white and expensive lounging clothes she’s putting on.


End file.
